Thanksgiving
by dreaminwriter
Summary: It had all been Cas' idea. After he found that cookbook on a shelf in Goodwill, the thing battered and dusty, marked up with notes and dog-eared by some 1950s housewife. He'd invited Sam and Jess without telling Dean. He would've just said no, anyway, said, where the hell will we fit everyone in this place? Their apartment was a one-bedroom walk up, true, but that wasn't the point.


It had all been Cas' idea. After he found that cookbook on a shelf in Goodwill, the thing battered and dusty, marked up with notes and dog-eared by some 1950s housewife. He'd invited Sam and Jess without telling Dean. He would've just said no, anyway, said, _where the hell will we fit everyone in this place?_ Their apartment was a one-bedroom walk up, true, but that wasn't the point. The point was Cas wanted a Thanksgiving dinner like they had on the covers of magazines in the grocery store. He wanted turkey and stuffing and smooth mashed potatoes set in a bowl next to the centerpiece. Never mind that they didn't have a dining room or even a kitchen table, and everyone was going to have to eat off of paper plates balanced on their laps.

So that was why when Dean walked in at 5 o'clock on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and said, "Sam just called me from the road to tell me they'd be here in two hours." Cas focused on kneading the pie crust in front of him and chose to ignore him. "Cas, what the hell is going on?" Silence. "Cas, look at me."

"I'm making Thanksgiving dinner," Cas said without looking up.

"When did you decide this?" Dean didn't sound angry, but after two years of dating, that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't.

"About a month ago." There was flour on the floor by Dean's boot, and Cas focused on that for a moment, his hands going through the motions with the dough.

"Damn, baby. When were you going to tell me? Tomorrow before the game?"

"I thought you would be mad."

"Cas. Baby, look at me, please." Dean's voice sweet and sugary was sometimes a tactic that he would use to win an argument at the outset, and so Cas met Dean's gaze hesitantly, trying to ignore the freckles on the end of his nose. "Why would I be mad?"

"You make fun of me for reading _Better Homes and Gardens._"

Dean started laughing, and Cas tried to turn back to the pie crust. _Why had he thought this was a good idea?_

"I just want to know where you plan on putting a garden in this place." He gestured around to the room that was half of their cramped two-room apartment. "We don't even have a balcony."

This was dangerous territory. Something inside of him that he never said aloud because he didn't know if it was safe to say it. He knew Dean loved him, heard him say it every night before bed, heard him whisper it into his hair when they curled up on the couch, but it was still terrifying. "We may have a garden, one day. I like them." Cas pulled the rolling pin out of the drawer beside the stove and went back to what he was doing.

Dean stepped behind him and pressed them into the Formica countertop, sliding his fingers over the black stubble that lined his jaw. Cas could hear his own breath hitch. He had flour all down the front of his t-shirt; the powder spread in a random pattern over the navy blue. "I think it's sweet," Dean whispered into his ear. He'd slipped his hands under the navy of Cas' shirt and pulled the fabric over his head. He started nibbling at the hollow point between Cas' neck and his shoulder blades; that part that made Cas' weak in the knees, and Dean knew it, went to it whenever they were tangled together in the sheets, sweat pouring off of them in the small space. Dean would bit and soothe that spot while he fucked them both into the mattress, rolling his hips against him. "How can I help?"

"You could start by not distracting," Cas said. He was trying to sound stern, but it had come out breathy and not at all convincing.

Dean hummed into his neck. His hands started to roam, one stopping to tweak Cas' right nipple while the other slid under the waistband of his jeans and around to grip his growing erection in his hand. "Try again," he chuckled. The counter was biting into Cas' hip while Dean stroked him with soft caresses.

"Well if you insist," Cas replied, turning to capture Dean's lips with his own. Dean's hands converged to release the metal button on the front of Cas' jeans and pull down the zipper. Cas grabbed the olive oil from the cabinet while Dean shucked his own pants. After a few furtive movements, they were joined together, Cas gripping the edge of the counter as Dean held onto his hips, running his thumbs in circles over Cas' lowerback. As they moved together, Dean's left hand crawled up his spine and threaded in his hair, pulling his neck back. Pleasure surged through him.

"I love seeing you like this," Dean whispered. Cas groaned and took himself in his hands. He finished to the sound of Dean breathing in his ear. Dean leaned over and bit his neck by his right shoulder and followed right behind him.

"I don't think I'm going to get these pies done," Cas said. Dean chuckled and kissed him under his ear.

"I'll go to the store tonight and get a couple. It's gonna be good, baby."

"We probably ought to clean this up before they get here."


End file.
